"If missis could see us to-night, what would she say?" That was the
brave C.'s remark last night at midnight, and he had reason. We left
Genoa, as you know, soon after five on the evening of my departure; and
in company with the lady whom you saw, and the dog whom I don't think
you did see, travelled all night at the rate of four miles an hour over
bad roads, without the least refreshment until daybreak, when the brave
and myself escaped into a miserable caffe while they were changing
horses, and got a cup of that drink hot. That same day, a few hours
afterwards, between ten and eleven, we came to (I hope) the d----dest
inn in the world, where, in a vast chamber, rendered still more desolate
by the presence of a most offensive specimen of what D'Israeli calls the
Mosaic Arab (who had a beautiful girl with him), I regaled upon a
breakfast, almost as cold, and damp, and cheerless, as myself. Then, in
another coach, much smaller than a small Fly, I was packed up with an
old padre, a young Jesuit, a provincial avvocato, a private gentleman
with a very red nose and a very wet brown umbrella, and the brave C. and
I went on again at the same pace through the mud and rain until four in
the afternoon, when there was a place in the coupe (two indeed), which I
took, holding that select compartment in company with a very ugly but
very agreeable Tuscan "gent," who said "_gia_" instead of "_si_," and
rung some other changes in this changing language, but with whom I got
on very well, being extremely conversational. We were bound, as you know
perhaps, for Piacenza, but it was discovered that we couldn't get to
Piacenza, and about ten o'clock at night we halted at a place called
Stradella, where the inn was a series of queer galleries open to the
night, with a great courtyard full of waggons and horses, and
"_velociferi_," and what not in the centre. It was bitter cold and very
wet, and we all walked into a bare room (mine!) with two immensely broad
beds on two deal dining-tables, a third great empty table, the usual
washing-stand tripod, with a slop-basin on it, and two chairs. And then
we walked up and down for three-quarters of an hour or so, while dinner,
or supper, or whatever it was, was getting ready. This was set forth (by
way of variety) in the old priest's bedroom, which had two more
immensely broad beds on two more deal dining-tables in it. The first
dish was a cabbage boiled in a great quantity of rice and hot water, the
whole flavoured with cheese. I was so cold that I thought it
comfortable, and so hungry that a bit of cabbage, when I found such a
thing floating my way, charmed me. After that we had a dish of very
little pieces of pork, fried with pigs' kidneys; after that a fowl;
after that something very red and stringy, which I think was veal; and
after that two tiny little new-born-baby-looking turkeys, very red and
very swollen. Fruit, of course, to wind up, and garlic in one shape or
another in every course. I made three jokes at supper (to the immense
delight of the company), and retired early. The brave brought in a bush
or two and made a fire, and after that a glass of screeching hot brandy
and water; that bottle of his being full of brandy. I drank it at my
leisure, undressed before the fire, and went into one of the beds. The
brave reappeared about an hour afterwards and went into the other;
previously tying a pocket-handkerchief round and round his head in a
strange fashion, and giving utterance to the sentiment with which this
letter begins. At five this morning we resumed our journey, still
through mud and rain, and at about eleven arrived at Piacenza; where we
fellow-passengers took leave of one another in the most affectionate
manner. As there was no coach on till six at night, and as it was a very
grim, despondent sort of place, and as I had had enough of diligences
for one while, I posted forward here in the strangest carriages ever
beheld, which we changed when we changed horses. We arrived here before
six. The hotel is quite French. I have dined very well in my own room on
the second floor; and it has two beds in it, screened off from the room
by drapery. I only use one to-night, and that is already made.
I purpose posting on to Bologna, if I can arrange it, at twelve
to-morrow; seeing the sights here first.
It is dull work this travelling alone. My only comfort is in motion. I
look forward with a sort of shudder to Sunday, when I shall have a day
to myself in Bologna; and I think I must deliver my letters in Venice in
sheer desperation. Never did anybody want a companion after dinner so
much as I do.
There has been music on the landing outside my door to-night. Two
violins and a violoncello. One of the violins played a solo, and the
others struck in as an orchestra does now and then, very well. Then he
came in with a small tin platter. "Bella musica," said I. "Bellissima
musica, signore. Mi piace moltissimo. Sono felice, signoro," said he. I
gave him a franc. "O moltissimo generoso. Tanto generoso signore!"
It was a joke to laugh at when I was learning, but I swear unless I
could stagger on, Zoppa-wise, with the people, I verily believe I should
have turned back this morning.
In all other respects I think the entire change has done me undoubted
service already. I am free of the book, and am red-faced; and feel
marvellously disposed to sleep.
So for all the straggling qualities of this straggling letter, want of
sleep must be responsible. Give my best love to Georgy, and my paternal
blessing to
Mamey,
Katey,
Charley,
Wally,
and
Chickenstalker.
P.S.--Get things in their places. I can't bear to picture them
otherwise.
P.P.S.--I think I saw Roche sleeping with his head on the lady's
shoulder, in the coach. I couldn't swear it, and the light was
deceptive. But I think I did.
Alia sign^{a}
Sign^{a} Dickens.
Palazzo Peschiere, Genova.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Charles Dickens.]